“Ha! Edgerton! Traitor!” exclaimed the wretch, starting angrily up.
“No, sir, you are wrong; Edgerton is not my name, it is only the name of a character I have assumed.”
“Who are you, then—and how came you here?” he asked, curiosity getting the better of his fear for a moment.
“Your first question I will answer presently. I am here because I followed you. I knew your errand, and I came to thwart you at every point. I have been on your track for the last six or seven years. Why, do you ask? Because I had an object in view; you possessed something which I wanted, and which at last I have got.”
“What—what is it?” gasped the squire, wildly, and striving to free himself from his fetters.
“This!” said the other, sternly, taking a paper from his bosom, unfolding it, and holding it up before his eyes.
“Blast you! what did you want of that? Ten thousand fiends take you—who are you, I say?”
“I am one whom you have deeply wronged. You have made my life desolate, as well as that of others, by misrepresenting my character, my intentions, and everything connected with me. Would you know who I am? then look again!”
He hastily pulled off his rough coat, revealing a neat and rich suit of broadcloth; then off came his fierce, heavy eyebrows and mustache—he had previously removed the swarthy tint from his face—and he stood forth the gentleman whom we saw in earnest conversation with Fredrich Weimher at the inn!
“Alfred Ellerton!”